


High-rise floor 90th

by Mary_MIAO



Category: The Falling Girl (Short Story)
Genre: Dino Buzzati, Gen, Original work - Freeform, shortstory, sidestory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 16:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_MIAO/pseuds/Mary_MIAO
Summary: He wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to watch until he had, in all sense of the phrase, grown up. Only a grown person could watch the falling girls he’d heard about so much in bedtime stories and children’s books, at least according to his mother.And then—she’d said—you can try to catch them.*Written on a whim--knowledge of the original story needed to understand.





	High-rise floor 90th

He gazed in wonder as the girl tumbled downwards, laughing and twirling in the air with a playfulness akin to that of old-story elves and fairies, her silhouette lined and gilded by fading sunlight. She had no wings, but the wind blew at the sleeves of her dress just so to suggest them. Rose-colored light bounced off her silky dark hair, giving it an ethereal sheen as it cascaded into the air around her. The glimpse of her face he caught revealed cupid-bow lips and emerald eyes shining with childish delight, and the faint hint of freckles splashing across a somewhat snubby nose and otherwise pale cheeks.

The boy strained his neck and watched with wide eyes and bated breath, small, chubby hands barely reaching the edge of the balcony he leaned against, though his feet already hurt from standing on tip-toes for so long. He wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to watch until he had, in all sense of the word, _grown up_. Only a _grown_ person could watch the falling girls he’d heard about so much in bedtime stories and children’s books, at least according to his mother.

_And then_—she’d said—_you can try to catch them. _

But he didn’t want to wait until he’d grown up. He didn’t even know what exactly _was_ growing up. It wasn’t something easy to understand, not like the roast chicken-with-sauce he had for dinner or the city lights coming on at night or the Samson’s girl coming to play every Sunday. He’d asked last year if he was grown up yet and his parents had said no—this year they’d still said no. And then he’d asked what he had to do to grow up, because it was taking forever, and mother had kissed his forehead and whispered that it didn’t require anything at all except time and patience. Growing up was an…an _abstract_ concept, father had added, and then he’d shared a knowing look with mother.

But despite all the restrictions and warnings about not going on the balcony, here he was, and he knew with all his young mind that he’d never regret coming to see her. She was beautiful and otherworldly and _oh,_ what he wouldn’t give to be like her, to be falling with her. She looked so happy, so _free_.

_And then you can try to catch them._

It was absurd. Why would he ever want to catch them?

Oh, but she’d already fallen almost past him, no doubt taking no interest in the small figure barely as high as the edge of the balcony. The boy frowned—then, taking a deep breath and with all the strength he could muster, he lifted himself an inch, two inches, half a meter off the ground, cheeks puffing up with the exertion, just in time to see her plummet _down, down_, down and out of sight, blending into the neon lights and busy traffic below. And then he blinked and she seemed to _change_, just a little, but by then the shadows had already enveloped her form, shrouding her face and figure in darkness. He rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to see better, but by the time he reopened them she had completely gone. The boy bit his bottom lip as disappointment welled up in his chest.

Behind him, the balcony doors opened with a click.

“Charles, darling? Charlie, where are—oh, of course,” It was his mother’s exasperated voice, and the next moment he felt strong hands wrapping around his waist, firmly lifting him from his self-induced hover and setting him back on the ground. Her light, sweet perfume enveloped him, as did the silky fabric of her evening wear—dress more than dressing gown. Charlie blinked down at slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails and immaculate nail-polish, and he pouted, slouching in her arms. 

“Don’t do that, Charles,” his mother reprimanded, “It’s dangerous. What if you fell?”

The boy kicked his legs in a show of childish willfulness. “What if I _wanted_ to fall?” He challenged, and squeezed his eyes shut to brace for her scolding. To his surprise, the woman simply sighed, and he opened an eye again cautiously, sneaking a careful peek at her face. Somehow it seemed softer bathed in orange-gold light, her cheeks taking on a rosy sheen, the matter-of-fact line of her mouth gentling into an almost-smile.

“You children, all of you, giving your mothers headaches.” She said, but her tone was without any real fire, “Did you know Elizabeth Samson asked her mother the same thing, just yesterday? You two aren’t worrying us on purpose, are you?”

He giggled. The truth was that they were, kind of, but he wasn’t about to_ tell_ her.

“Anyhow, she’ll have her choice when she’s old enough, but you won’t.” His protest—that he hovered better than anyone at school, and it wasn’t fair that only girls got to do it—was cut off by a firm hand on his shoulder, steering him away from the drop. “Let’s get back inside for dinner, it’s your favourite roast chicken today. And you have to go to bed early because tomorrow’s moving-down day.”

“Yes, mother.” The boy grumbled, deliberately dragging his feet as he went reluctantly back into the house. Tomorrow _was_ moving-down day—he’d forgotten. This year they’d been living on the 90th floor; after tomorrow they’d be on the 89th.

Behind him, the woman paused. She took one last, long look at the glittering city below, and her heart twanged with a kind of inexplicable attraction. The writhing streets and pulsing traffic, the silhouettes of luxurious high-rises bathed in sunset, the sleek, streamlined car-doors opening to reveal beautiful men and women, all wrapped in outrageously extravagant furs and bathing in the unabashed grace of youth—The city called for her to join them, to take the same leap she’d been tempted into all those years ago. But its’ pull on her had become faint, and was no longer irresistible.

“Good thing he caught me.” She said quietly, and resolutely shut the balcony door behind her. 


End file.
